The Transformed Man
by Gale Force
Summary: The Transformed Man COMPLETE. Steed says goodbye to Mrs Catherine Gale, and hello to Mrs. Emma Peel.
1. Default Chapter

****

The Transformed Man

Introduction:

1. Anyone who has watched the Cathy Gale _Avengers _episodes knows that John Steed's persona changed drastically from his time with her, to what it was when he partnered Emma Peel. This story attempts to explain that transformation.

2. _Lobster Quadrille _was Cathy's last episode, but it wasn't necessarily her last adventure. Just because she refused to do a bit of work for Steed while on holiday in Bermuda doesn't necessarily mean she would have refused to work for him when she came back. _This _story tells the last adventure of John Steed and Cathy Gale.

3. _The Murder Market _was Diana Rigg's first episode as an Avenger, but I contend it was not an Emma Peel adventure. It was clearly a Cathy Gale script with the name changed. I have therefore put Mrs. Gale into this story, and it is Steed's actions here that drive her away. Emma Peel comes in **Chapter 2: After.**

1. Before

Frozen bars of sunlight drilled into Cathy's Gale's bedroom through the slats of her window shade and shattered against the floor, spreading light but no warmth throughout the room. Cathy opened her eyes and looked around briefly. But she didn't like the feeling of coolness on the tip of her nose. ''Ah, to be in England again,'' she murmured, ironically, for she had just returned from a two week vacation in the tropical sunshine of the Bahamas. She pulled the covers over her head and prepared to go back to sleep.

Chirp, chirp went the phone by her bed. Cathy extended a hand, found the receiver, and brought it under the covers.

''Mrs. Gale?''

It was a familiar voice. ''Hello, Steed,'' Cathy Gale said in resignation.

''I didn't wake you up, did I? I'm dying to hear about your holiday. Won't you come over?''

''Do you know what time it is?'' asked Cathy. 

''Time for you to stop being a layabout. You're back from your holiday, my dear. You can't hang on to the lazy latitudes here.''

''That's Hawaii,'' she pointed out, sitting up so the covers slid down her nightgown-clad form. But she sighed. ''I'll be there in a few minutes, Steed.'' She hung up without listening to Steed's reply, if any. Just at that second the cuckoo, which inhabited the Black Forest clock that hung on the wall between two windows, flipped open the doors of its hidey hole and popped out. Cuckoo, it went. Cuckoo. Seven times. Cathy Gale glared at it. ''Be quite, you.''

She showered quickly, put on a woolen dress in her favorite green, and then wrapped herself in her fur coat as she left her flat. She bypassed her Triumph motorcycle for her car, and drove slowly to Steed's flat. As she drove, she thought. She'd had quite a bit of mail waiting for her when she'd returned from her trip to the Bahamas. There had been offers in some of those letters, from some esteemed colleagues in her various fields of expertise. And they had been extremely tempting offers. And yet she was driving at seven o'clock in the morning to visit John Steed, who undoubtedly had a job of his own to give her.

She walked into Steed's flat without knocking. He stood in the middle of the room, slender in a black turtleneck sweater, holding a pencil and a straight-edge in his hands. ''Good morning, Mrs. Gale,'' Steed said cheerfully. 

Steed's exuberance always seemed to be catching. ''Good morning,'' she returned with a smile.

''Help yourself to coffee.''

''Always the perfect host,'' Cathy said, and poured herself a cup. Steed was working on a large sheet of paper propped against a revolving drafting board. Cathy drifted over to it curiously. The page contained several sets of peaked lines. ''Planning?'' asked Cathy. ''Plotting,'' returned Steed.

''For your accountant? A museum of modern art? Or,'' and her finger traced the final downward line, ''your popularity poll?'' 

Steed ignored the dig. '' Looking into a rather curious situation. Eleven murders in six months. No clues, no apparent motives. no suspects. Or rather, the people who did have a motive happened to be conveniently elsewhere at the time.''

''Coincidence?''

''This says no,'' said Steed, indicating his plot. ''Everything points to eleven organized murders. The chances of coincidence are in the region of...'' Steed made play with his slide rule. Cathy thought about it for a few seconds. ''27 million to one. It's a generality. You can have an exact figure, if you like.'' 

'No, to the nearest million will do,'' retorted Steed, dropping his slide rule unceremoniously on the table 

''Unfortunately,'' said Cathy musingly, ''mathematics won't tell you who did the murders.''

''I'm hoping these might,'' Steed commented, returning to her side with a sheaf of photographs. ''By some strange quirk of fate all the victims had their photographs taken recently.''

''All at the same studio.'' commented Cathy, sorting through them.

Steed selected one. ''Number Eleven. Jonathan Stone.'' Then he glanced at her sideways. Cathy knew that look. He wanted her to do something for him, but he wouldn't just come out and say it. ''Don't you think it'd be a good idea if we paid our condolences to his widow?

'We? I don't know her.'' Cathy responded, sipping her coffee.

''Surely one of us ought to go.'' Steed continued in his persuasive voice.

''But of course, you can't,'' Cathy stated, with amused annoyance. Not at what he wanted her to do, but how he went about asking her. It must be a congenital defect, she thought. He did it every...single...time.

But, ''Must dash,'' Steed told her cheerfully. ''I'm having my photograph taken.'' And he trotted up the stairs and out of the flat. Cathy finished her coffee in a leisurely manner, and then followed him. On the drive to Mrs. Stone's house (Steed had neglected to provide her with the address but she'd looked it up in the phone book) she concocted her cover story.

A butler greeted Cathy Gale at the door. He took her card, disappeared for a few seconds, then returned to show her into the living room. Cathy glanced around. Whatever Mr. Stone's business had been, he certainly had done himself well. She picked up a photograph, and was holding it when the widow entered the room.

''Mrs. Gale?''

''I'm terribly sorry to bother you at a time like this,'' said Cathy with genuine sympathy, ''but I'm with the _Industrial Times _magazine.'' Cathy looked at her hostess closely without appearing to do so. There were little signs of grieving - no redness about the eyes to indicate crying, but she did seem a bit tense, and Cathy herself knew that people showed grief for the loss of their loved ones in different ways.

''Oh, yes, do sit down.''

''Thank you. Since your husband was so prominent in the business world I'm writing a biography.'' 

Oh, what do you want to know?

Cathy turned. A man had entered the room. Tall, dressed in a dark suit, wearing a mourning band.

''Oh, this is my brother-in-law, Robert Stone.''

Cathy nodded her head to him, then turned back to the widow. ''Well, I need some background details. ''

''That's simple enough.'' said Robert Stone.

''And I'd like a recent photograph.''

Mrs. Stone furrowed her brow. ''Well, I really don't think...''

''No problem.'' interrupted Robert. ''I saw some in his desk only last week.''

Mrs. Stone looked at her brother-in-law, with an expression on her face that Cathy couldn't quite interpret. She said quickly, ''I'm sure you're wrong, Robert.''

''Well, give me the keys and I'll take a look.''

Mrs. Stone darted a glance at Cathy. ''No, no, it's, it's quite alright. I'll go.'' She hurried from the room.

''Tragic business,'' Robert Stone commented, moving further into the room.

''Yes.'' Cathy rose. '' Strange that he should be killed without reason. I mean, his business interests were quite ordinary, weren't they?''

At this point. Mrs. Stone returned. ''I'm sorry. You must have been mistaken, Robert. I can't find any photographs.''

Cathy looked at Robert Stone's face. His expression, too, was undecipherable.

Cathy returned to Steed's flat to report. The incident about the photographs puzzled her. ''I think she was lying, but why?''

As she spoke Steed busied himself with a phonebook. He looked up at this point to say, ''What about the brother?''

''Educated. Sophisticated. Charming.'' she paused. '' Rather good looking.'' She felt Steed glance at her. It was a game they played, this flirting. Steed liked to believe he was irresistible to women, and to most women he undoubtedly was. But he'd never been able to get round her, though it was not for lack of trying. Yet he liked the fact that she egged him on sometimes, by recounting her conquests, her interests. A sparring match, of a kind.

''Where's the catch?'' he asked now.

''He was edgy..tense.''

''Something to hide?''

''If so he kept it hidden.'' Cathy put down the pencil that she'd been using to tap against her teeth. ''Have a good time at the photographers?''

''Went like a flash.'' Steed must have finally found what he was looking for in the phone book. ''Ah, Togetherness.'' He took up a pad of paper and began to write. '' My dear, you must be famished. There's a charming little restaurant where they do the most beautiful escargot aubuerge.a creme.''

''With ausperege.'' Cathy added, her tastebuds watering already.

''Parmesan. Tough of garlic. And the crepe are superb.''

''Ah, I can see I'm in for a feast.''

''Delightful place. Just a stone's throw from the library.''

Cathy's smile faded. As usual. ''Mm hm. The library.''

''After lunch you just browse through the police records on all the murders. Arm yourself with a multitude of facts.''

''And in particular?''

''Were the victims married?''

''What's marriage got to do with it?''

Steed seated himself beside her on the divan. ''A maaa-rvelous institution. I'm seriously contemplating it. I'll put myself on the market today.'' he turned and looked at her closely. ''Every bid considered. Of course I'm very choosy.'' And then he was up and out the door again. Cathy laughed.

But it was so like Steed, she thought on her drive to lunch. For two years he'd played these little games with her...these game of manipulating her into doing something rather than simply asking her to do it - seemingly taken pleasure in it. And she'd snapped at him and argued with him about it...all to no avail. Well, but why should he modify his behavior, really, when despite all her complaints of the way he treated her she still responded to his calls for assistance?

Her fingers were black with newsprint by the time she'd finished researching the murders, tabulating all known facts neatly in her notebook. That done, she returned to her flat. Then she went for a spin on her motorcycle, returning just in time for dinner. It was a solitary meal, which she enjoyed, curled up in front of her television set watching the news on the BBC.

The phone rang. It was Steed. ''Mrs. Gale? Don't talk. Listen.'' Cathy gritted her teeth.

''Go at once to 14 Spurley Ct. It's just round the corner from you. A man called Henshaw.''

''But why...''

'' I can't explain now.'' he said impatiently.

''But..'' 

''Don't argue...'' His voice lowered. ''Unexpected visitors,'' he suddenly hissed. ''Goodbye.'' Cathy glared at the silent phone in her hand.

'Another game with her?' Cathy thought, as she pulled on flat shoes and wrapped herself in her fur coat. 'Who was this Henshaw? Was she supposed to interrogate him? Or was he in some kind of danger? Damn Steed and his need-to-know philosophy!'

Cathy pulled up in front of the block of flats known as Spurley Court. She entered and took the lift up to the fourteenth floor. What a posh place. She entered the luxuriously appointed hallway and knocked on the door. No answer. Mrs. Gale looked around...then she tried the door. It opened to her touch.

Cathy eased into the flat, calling, ''Mr. Henshaw? The light was dim - it came only from candles. The dining table was laid with chafing dishes. Cathy went further in, picked up one of the candle holders. From somewhere...she could hear water running. She turned towards the sound, as she did so some sixth sense made her turn back/. A woman, dressed in evening clothes, had flitted past her - in one hand carrying a pair of high-heeled shoes. She did not do anything foolish like hesitate in the door and turn back so that Cathy could get a look at her. A pro. 

Cathy paused only to set down the candles. It would have been quicker to just drop the thing but then of course she'd probably set the whole place on fire. Only a couple of seconds lost. She raced after the woman - out into the hallway. Here the woman did look back, just as she disappeared into the emergency stairwell. She slammed the door closed. Cathy jerked it open and tripped headlong over a roller skate left on the landing. She fought to regain her balance and her breath, and by the time she had done so the woman was long gone. A pro indeed, Cathy thought. Had her escape route all planned out just in case she needed it. Why had she needed it? Cathy returned to the flat, entered the bathroom, and saw a man in evening attire stretched out in the full bathtub. Quite, quite dead.

Cathy entered Steed's flat. He looked at her, and from the expression on his face she knew that he knew that Henshaw was dead. He gave a kind of grimace, said, ''Henshaw,'' and knocked over one of the soldiers on his miniature battlefield. This enraged Cathy.

''You knew, didn't you?'' she stormed, knocking over a couple more of those little toy soldiers who fought, suffered and died under the unfeeling hand that controlled them. ''You knew he was dead when you sent me there!''

''Of course I didn't!'' Steed snapped at her. ''Well, not soon enough! As soon as I found out he was in danger I sent you around.''

''Not soon enough!'' Cathy snapped back. She turned away from Steed in frustration and sat down. ''Well, I didn't do much better. I let the murderer walk right past me.''

''You saw him?''

''Her. Young. Very pretty.''

Steed's eyes narrowed. ''I wonder if she's looking for a husband. The Marriage Bureau is involved in this. It's involved right up to its bridal bouquet.'' Steed strode round the couch to the drinks bar and began mixing. He snapped his fingers at her. Another one of his very annoying habits. ''Your report on those other cases. All the victims were bachelors.''

''All except Jonathan Stone.''

''Yes, that's a bit of a poser.'' He came round and presented her with a drink, which she accepted with a nod of thanks. ''All the same we may find out tomorrow. They should have found me a suitable partner by then.'' To her querying look he explained, ''Very scientific. They analyze you personality and then find you a compatible companion.''

''That must have set them a problem.'' Cathy commented sardonically.

''Eh? 

''Finding a match for you.'' 

''Oh, I don't know. Educated, charming, cultured...'' 

Cathy didn't give him the additional word she knew he wanted, but instead added ''Ruthless, devious, scheming - she'll have to be quite a girl. A cross between Lucrezia Borgia and Joan of Arc.'' 

''Sounds like every girl I ever knew,'' Steed said somewhat coolly. ''By the way, my dear,'' he grinned at her, '' Isn't it high time you thought of marrying again?''

Cathy choked on her scotch.

The next morning, -as ordered-, Cathy thought grimly, she presented herself at the Togetherness Marriage Bureau. She was at her most feminine, and had taken especial care with her makeup. After all, she was after a husband, wasn't she? The cloying sweetness of the anteroom also sent her into gales of hysterical laughter, but she managed to control herself, and she was just signing in to the register when Steed walked out of another room followed by another man who was obviously the head of the organization. ''Goodbye and good luck,'' the elder man told Steed.

Mrs. Gale handed him the pen which she had used, and they exchanged glances. Then Steed turned and blew a kiss at the beautiful blonde receptionist. Cathy had to clench her lips tightly together. What was he trying to do, make her corpse in front of everyone? [To corpse, in the English theater, is to fall out of character on stage, forget one lines, start laughing, etc.]

''And what can Togetherness do for you, miss...'' said the man who had followed Steed. He was tall, with thinnish, graying hair, well-groomed, though, with the voice of an actor. And he had taken one look at her and his eyes had lit up. 

''Mrs.'' said Cathy. ''Mrs. Cathy Gale. I'm looking for a husband.''

Well, you've come to the right place. Indeed you have. Will you kindly step into my office?''

''Mr. Lovejoy!.'' cried the blonde receptionist.

''Not now, not now. I'm busy.''

''It's the managing director. Urgent!''

Lovejoy stopped short, took her arm and turned Mrs. Gale around. She didn't try to resist. Lovejoy spoke rapidly. ''Well, there's really nothing we can do without photographs. Full length, full face, head and shoulders. We recommend the photographer at this address.'' He handed her a card. 

''But I really only came...''

''He'll fix you up,'' Lovejoy told her, urging her toward the door. ''Just tell him it's for us.'' Cathy found herself in the hallway. Suddenly Lovejoy opened the door again, ''Good day, and hurry back with those photographs.''

Cathy smiled as she walked away. Seemed like she had made a conquest. Well, well, she thought. The Managing Director. She wondered if Steed had hit a nerve somewhere in the organization.

Cathy arrived at the photographer's. He had lots and lots of lovely equipment which she would have just loved to look over, but she merely handed him Lovejoy's card. He set to work on her right away. ''I'm rather anxious to get them,'' she told Beal at the conclusion of the sitting. ''Fine,'' said Beal. ''I'll develop them right away. If you'll come back in half an hour?''

''Lovely.''

Thirty minutes later Mrs. Gale returned, after having spent an enjoyable time at an anqiques shop just around the corner. Beal popped out of an inner door. ''There we are, Mrs. Gale.''

''Oh, my pictures, thank you.''

Not pictures!'' protested the young, and very full of himself photographer. ''I don't take pictures! I capture the very essence of your personality. The essential you.''

''Will a check be all right?'' was all Cathy said. He nodded assent. He continued to hover near her, eyeing her with what he apparently presumed would look like a connoisseur's eye. 

''If Togetherness get many more clients like you, I might give it a whirl meself.'' Cathy restrained a suitable retort, as at that second a man entered the studio and called, ''Mr. Beal.''

Beal excused himself and went over to the visitor. Cathy glanced back casually, and her eyes narrowed in surprise. It was Robert Stone. She turned away. 

Once more in Lovejoy's office, Cathy smiled charmingly at Lovejoy. He smiled back at her. 

''Togetherness will solve all your problems, Mrs. Gale.''

''I only have one, Mr. Lovejoy. Finding a suitable partner.'' Cathy spoke in a slightly higher register than her normal voice, and kept a smile on her lips at all times. 

''We'll do our best. Now, what are your requirements.'' Lovejoy pocked up a pencil. ''Age group? Physical aspect? Just let me know what you want. ''

Cathy thought for a moment. ''Well, he would have to be mature. A man of culture and intelligence.''

She watched Lovejoy write this dow. She couldn't resist. ''With stamina.''

Lovejoy's pencil froze for a palpable number of seconds before he wrote this down. ''Quite so, yes. Of course, our Togetherness Counselor will take care of the fine details. Many of our clients are quite pernickety. Some even specify a title.'' 

Cathy smiled sweetly. ''I'm far more interested in the man, really.''

''Now, financial status. You would wish your opposite half to be reasonably wealthy? A rhetorical question, really. An exclusive concern such as this, we do not accept, you understand the lower orders.''

''Naturally.''

Lovejoy smiled and rose to his feet. ''I can see we understand each other perfectly, Mrs. Gale. Now, if I might recapitulate. Mature, cultured, intelligent....with stamina, of independent means. Will that be all?

''I think that will be entirely satisfactory, Mr Lovejoy.'' Cathy rose, and handed Lovejoy the packet of photographs. ''The photographer asked me to give you these.''

''Ah, yes. Yes,'' Lovejoy slipped out the sheets of paper and sorted through them. ''Excellent. I can see we shall have no delay in placing you at all, Mrs. Gale.''

Lovejoy escorted her to the door of her office. Cathy exited the anteroom, nodding to the beautiful blonde receptionist and the tall doorman, and not at all noticing a woman with her face buried in a magazine.

Once more at Steed's apartment. ''I spend more time here than at my own, Cathy thought ruefully. Steed had a tuba sitting on his divan - she wondered why. She couldn't picture Steed having the patience to learn how to play a musical instrument. She picked it up, and seated herself comfortably with the tuba in her arms. She blew a few exploratory notes, and then tried the Wedding March.

Steed was puttering around in one of his many rooms with golf club and golf ball.

''How did your Togetherness get-together go?'' called Cathy. ''Your blind date? What was she like?''

''Extremely charming and very attractive.''

''I suppose you realize she may be deadly serious about all this.''

''With the accent on the deadly.'' Steed agreed. ''She was very careful but she was obviously planted to find out my more personal financial problems.

''Oh, that doesn't necessarily follow. I mean, if she is genuine, she'd naturally want to know all those sort of details.''

''She showed an inordinate interest in my cousin.''

''Cousin?''

''The rich one. The one who stands between me and the family fortune. The one I invented as bait.''

''And she bit?'' Cathy said with a smile.

''Hook, line and sinker.'' He smirked a bit. ''She took to me, too.''

Cathy blew a sour note at him.

''How did you get on with old blink eye Lovejoy?''

Cathy attempted an impersonation, as she watched Steed get up on his coffee table and balance the golf ball on a small paper box. ''I must say, Mrs. Gale, we should have no difficultly in placing you at all.'' Steed hits her with a golf all tee.

''Very good for the ego, isn't it.'' Steed said cheerily. '' Makes one feel that the whole platoon of the other half panting to get up one.''

He went to retrieve his golf ball.

''I also went to the photographer's.'' Cathy commented.

''Friend Beal? How did you get on there?''

''Robert Stone was there.''

Steed came back into the room eagerly. ''Robert Stone! What did he want?''

''He was talking to Beal.''

''What about?'' Steed said impatiently.

Cathy shrugged. ''I couldn't hear. I was too far away.''

''A great pity.'' Steed sighed pityingly. Then, as usual, he cheered up immediately. ''Now, wedding cake decorations. A great big silver horseshoe? Miniature bride and groom? I've been invited to old Lovejoy's for a wedding cake tasting.''

That evening, Cathy returned from a date of her own - with an archeologist friend, a friend of many years, who followed that old line of Agatha Christie's - the older she got, the more interested in her he was. They had kissed briefly at the door, but Cathy was tired and didn't invite him in. Once inside, she saw the red light blinking on her answer phone and pressed the button. Steed was his usual cheerful self: ''Mrs. Gale! Great news! Please stop by my flat for some champagne!''

Cathy switched off the tape with a slight feeling of triumph. So, Steed was close to cracking the case. It would be a pleasure to put these people behind bars - using the ...well, not the sacred precincts of marriage, obviously, but the prospect of providing happiness to lure unsuspecting people to their deaths...very unpleasant people.

She walked into Steed's flat, and flinched at the sound of a shot. Then laughed at herself. Steed had just popped the cork on the champagne. And badly, too, foam was sluping over the edge as he came forward to pour it into waiting glasses.

''Whoops!'' Steed laughed. ''Glad you could make it.''

''Why the sudden celebration? The champagne?''

''It's a sort of farewell gesture.''

''Leaving?''

''No, more of an assignment.''

''An assignment?'' Cathy smiled. ''Or an assignation?'' She sipped the champagne appreciatively.

''Like it?''

''Mm.''

''Gift from my new employers. For services about to be rendered.''

''Lovejoy and Dinsford.'' Cathy acknowledged.

''The very same. They even provided me with the means.'' He picked up a wicked pistol, equipped with a silencer, and waved it at her. 

''Good.'' said Cathy with satisfaction, seating herself on his divan. ''Then we've got them.''

__

''Them.'' Steed agreed. '' Now I've got to find out who's behind Togetherness.'' His voice changed slightly, became grimmer. ''And I can't do that until I've done the assignment.''

Cathy stared at him. ''What are you supposed to do?''

Steed smiled. ''I've got to murder somebody.''

''Someone in particular or can you choose at random?''

''No, the choice has already been made. They even provided a photograph of the victim. I must say it's rather flattering.'' He picked up a photo and looked at it.

Cathy Gale had a sudden premonition, and she didn't like it. She also didn't like the way Steed was acting. He never waved a gun about like that. And he'd been antic...moving all about the room. ''Steed,'' Cathy said very quietly, ''Who are you supposed to kill?'' Don't do it, Steed, she pleaded silently, don't do it. But he did it. He leveled the gun at her and said grimly, ''You, my dear.''

Cathy Gale rose from the divan like the wrath of a Goddess, with her head thrown back like Queen Boadiccea leading her soldiers against the Roman legions. ''How dare you! How dare you!'' She strode up to Steed and grabbed the gun out of his hand and threw it down to the floor violently. Steed gaped at her.

''Just a joke, my dear,'' he said feebly.

'' A stupid joke! A ridiculous joke. A sadistic joke. And that's what I _hate _about you, Steed. You are a _sadist_.''

''Oh, I say.'' Steed was starting to get angry, but Cathy overrode him. ''I've put up with it for two years. Your manipulating. Your lying. These stupid games you play to make me do what you want me to do.''

''But that's all they were, Mrs. Gale. Games....I thought you enjoyed them as much as I - you _knew _I was playing them.''

Cathy took a deep breath. ''Touche, Steed. But not through the heart. You enjoy the game too much, and I have had enough of it. This is it. I'm through.''

''Look, Mrs. Gale. I'm sorry, okay? I abase myself. You're just overwrought.'' He put his hand on her arm. She looked at him and he removed his hand hurriedly.

''This is it, Steed,'' Cathy said again. ''I'll finish this assignment - presumably in a coffin. But then I'm done. I'm going back to my own life.''

Steed looked at her and started to say something, then stopped. He shrugged. ''As you say, Mrs. Gale. Here, let me refill your champagne.''

''So why me?'' Cathy said, calmly, as she sat down. Steed, a little white faced, attempted to regain his former insouciance. But he felt as if he'd been hit in the pit of the stomach. It had just been a joke!

''They didn't explain why. Just said I was to do you in.''

''Hmmm,'' Cathy said thoughtfully. ''I wonder if my photograph fell into the hands of someone who recognized it. Henshaw's killer, for example.'' 

Cathy Gale lay in her coffin, only her face visible, the rest of her white-gowned form hidden by satin batting, specially designed to conceal the fact that she was still breathing. Candles in huge candle holders guarded her on four sides. Cathy was meditating, and so deep in thought was she that she barely heard the voices of the two men who entered the viewing room.

''She looks peaceful.'' commented John Steed.

''Yes.'' The voice was Lovejoy's. Lovejoy, who had been so taken with her...pleased now that she was dead.

''Lets hope that her past sins - there were many, from what I gather, will be overlooked and that she will...'' Steed raised his eyes skyward.

''We must hope so.''

''Sincerely,'' said Steed sincerely.

''Most sincerely. I take it there was no....''

Steed grinned his hard grin. ''She didn't feel a thing.''

''My trust in you has not been misplaced, Mr. Steed.''

''I hope not.''

''On the contrary. In fact, I won't hesitate to put it to the test again.''

Excellent, thought Mrs. Gale behind closed eyes. Steed's plan was working. As it jolly well ought to do!

''Again?'' said Steed, innocently.

''I'll be quite frank with you, Mr. Steed. A man of your caliber is worth ten of those we usually work with. We could use you again many times and it would be profitable work. Besides, I think I know my man. I sense a certain restlessness. Life needs a dash of flavor for you. A little danger, eh?''

Lovejoy certainly knew Steed well.

''I must say I'm tempted.''

''Capital. Then perhaps...''

''But I should like to see your Managing Director. You do have a Managing Director, don't you?''

There was a pause. But then Lovejoy said, ''Naturally.''

''Time I started working from the top then.''

''We'll see, Mr. Steed. We'll see. Can I offer you a lift anywhere?''

''No thanks, I think I'll stay awhile. Pay my last respects, eh?''

Cathy strained her ears as she heard footsteps, then a door close. Then came Steed's voice: ''You've got a spider on your nose.''

Cathy opened her eyes and sat up. ''Have you no respect?''

''You were certainly resting very peacefully.'' Steed said cheerfully. '' I thought you were asleep. Now, are you comfortable?''

''Not very. How much longer am I supposed to lie in state?''

''I should take it easy until this evening. I'll come and take you out then.''

''All day.'' Cathy said disgruntedly.

''It will be a nice rest for you. Besides, it will give me time to find out who Mr. X is.''

''Robert Stone?'' Cathy suggested.

''Perhaps. But we mustn't let them see you until we're absolutely certain. Now, anything I can get you? Magazines? Newspapers?

I brought some books with me.

''Oh, where are they?''

''I'm lying on them. That's why I'm not very comfortable.''

''Well, perhaps this will ease the aches and pains of those sharp corners.'' Steed delved into the coffin and brought up a bottle of champagne and a wine glass.

Cathy grinned. ''Now I call that very thoughtful.''

''You see? I can be thoughtful, Mrs. Gale.''

__

''When you think about it,'' said Cathy. 

''Don't get tipsy.' Steed told her. ''We can't have you hiccoughing in the coffin.'' and he smiled as he left.

Cathy smiled too. If she hadn't already decided to end her partnership with Steed that horrible pun would have sealed the deal.

Hours passed, and as the minutes crawled by with no activity Cathy began to get very bored. Lovejoy had already seen her dead, why should she remain? But Steed was nothing if not thorough.

Cathy leapt lithely out of the coffin, poured herself a glass of champagne, and began to do stretching exercises. She would practice her fencing footwork as long as she had the time. Suddenly she heard footsteps and voices. Cathy gulped down the champagne, tossed the glass into the coffin and hurriedly climbed in herself. She pulled the satin batting up to her neck just in time.

Silence. Footsteps. Four men. Suddenly, darkness. Cathy opened her eyes to slits which widened as the coffin lid descended on her. Well, well. Steed had been right.

Carefully, but very very quickly Cathy reached below her and pressed a button. The back of the coffin dropped down, plunging her into the hollowed out trestle beneath. With just the slightest of nudges the spring-bottom snapped into place, and an empty coffin was carried out of the room. Cathy waited a good long time before she levered herself out of the trestle, and poured herself another glass of champagne. She felt she deserved it.

Cathy Gale, dressed in her action leather, stood in the darkness of the inner sanctum of the Togetherness Bureau. She had heard a noise outside. She waited, silently, as a man entered the room - leaving the door open. Very careless of him. He started searching the place, making a lot of noise. An amateur, Cathy thought. She flicked on a light and he spun around. It was Robert Stone.

''You! I saw you buried!''

Cathy held her gun on him ''Correction, Mr. Stone. You saw my coffin buried. Not me. Sorry to disappoint you.''

Disappoint?

''A nice organization you have here.''

''I have? Now wait a minute! You've got your wires crossed.''

''I saw you at the photographers.''

''So, you...you imagined it was me. Now look, I went to that photographer for one reason only. The same reason I broke in here tonight. To find out who killed my brother. Look, you've got to believe me! I've snooped and I've pried and I've discovered that Jonathan was supposed to meet someone from here the day he was murdered. I thought they must keep records of meetings between clients.''

Cathy nodded. ''You try the desk.''

She herself walked over to the filing cabinet. She put her gun down on the top as she began opening drawers. 

''I still don't understand.'' Robert Stone said. The coffin!''

''Steed thinks ahead.'' Cathy shrugged. ''I'll give him that. Lead floor to the coffin to give it weight. Hinged bottom in case I needed it. And I needed it.''

''Ah, here.'' said Robert Stone, holding up a file. Cathy turned and took a step away from the filing cabinets. At that exact instant Barbara Wakefield, carrying a gun of her own, entered the room. ''Damn,'' thought Cathy Gale. ''And I dismissed Stone as an amateur. Thank God I'm retiring now.''

Barbara Wakefield's face was cold, the gun in her hand steady. She spoke in a grating Canadian accent: ''Back up This means we'll have to have your funeral all over again. Still I'm sure a double funeral will be much cheaper.''

Lovejoy's voice called from the outer office. ''Barbara.''

''In here.''

Lovejoy, Dinsford, the tall doorman....and Jessica Stone, widow of Jonathan Stone, entered the room.

''Jessica!'' cried her brother-in-law in shock.

''Steed!'' exclaimed Dinsford as the full import of seeing Catherine Gale arrive sank in. ''We were right about Steed.''

''Fools, both of you.'' snapped Jessica Stone.

''He went back to his flat.'' Lovejoy gritted.

..We can catch him there if we hurry...'' agreed Dinsford.

''Later. '' snapped Jessica Stone. ''We'll tend to Steed later. First thing is to take care of these two. Dinsford, back the car up to the front entrance. They'll have to be found pretty far from here.''

Cathy watched Dinsford walk out. Good. That lowered the odds to four to two.

''Why Jessica?'' demanded her brother in law. ''Why...''

''Kill Jonathan? Kill my own husband?'' Jessica Stone spoke bitterly. He wasn't content. We had a good organization here. Infallible. But he wasn't content. No, he had to get involved with one girl after another. And so I used the organization - our organization, against him.''

''The only married man.'' Cathy said aloud.

''Oh, you've noticed that?'' Jessicas Stone said sarcastically. ''Very clever. Very astute. But it won't do you much good now. Dinsford should be ready by now.''

Lovejoy came forward, grabbed Cathy somewhat roughly by the arm and led her to the door. Good. Too cramped in here for fighting, Cathy thought. Much better out in the anteroom. More room to swing a cat - or a mink-clad murderess.

The little procession entered the anteroom. Cathy saw immediately that Walter Dinsford lay unconscious on a loveseat. So....Steed was here. Cathy began to breathe a little easier. 

'' Don't just sit there, Dinsford.'' snapped Lovejoy, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. Then, ''Walter,'' he cried, as he realized Dinsford was unconscious. At that precise second the groom-mannequin came off his pedestal and punched Dinsford in the mouth. Robert Stone, realizing that help was at hand, immediately got in on the action. 

''Mrs. Stone!'' Steed called to Cathy. Cathy nodded and sprinted into the office, where Barbara Wakefield and Jessica Stone were busy burning files in a trashcan. Cathy punched Jessica Stone in the face, and upended the unburned files out onto the floor.

Barbara Wakefield had given her gun to Lovejoy. She now grabbed up letter opener. The two women faced each other. Cathy did not underestimate her opponent - the woman was a cold-blooded killer. And she had the poise and the lightness of foot that indicated some familiarity with the martial arts.

The two women circled. Cathy could hear the sounds of fighting from the other room. Steed might have trouble with the giant doorman, but the other two, not a problem. So he'd have that well in hand. She concentrated on her own adversary. Damn these chair and things!

Barbara lunged forward, swiping with the letter opener. Cathy danced backwards, and felt a cushion behind her knees. Deliberately she fell backward, hoping to entice the woman to come to her and leave herself open for a kick to the heart, but Barbara just sneered at the ploy and waited for her. Cathy regained her feet, Barbara attacked, and Cathy took her in a judo throw and sent her sailing across the furniture.

Barbara popped to her feet, face red with rage, and flung herself at Cathy. Cathy karate chopped her as she went by, and she landed unconscious in the arms of John Steed, who had just entered the room.

''Perfect timing, Steed.''

Steed looked at the unconscious woman in his arms. ''Well, that's one way of looking at it.''

He looked up at Mrs. Gale. ''Another case solved.''

''And my final case, Steed. I'm going home.''

He stared at her for a long time, then shrugged. ''Okay.''

Cathy nodded. ''Okay.'' She sketched him a salute and left the room, walking out of the anteroom past all of the unconscious bodies, past a silent Stone who watched her go in puzzlement.

John Steed stood for a long time with the body of Barbara Wakefield in his arms. The warm body of a very cold woman. And he thought of the other woman who was walking out of his life. Had he driven her out. He...sadistic? Steed turned and placed the body of Barbara Wakefieled, very carefully, on a couch. He raised her head and placed a pillow beneath it. He then went out, told Robert Stone to call the police, informing him that all the proof of the murder ring was in the office. Then, very quietly, Steed climbed into his Bentley and drove home.


	2. The Transformed Man: After

****

The Transformed Man

2. After

__

Introduction:

The story arc is as follows: 

1) Chase Me Faster prelude (in which Cathy Gale takes a holiday in Bermuda), 

2) Every Steed Needs A Knight, in which Steed meets Emma Peel, 

3) The Transformed Man: Before, in which Steed and Cathy Gale go on their final adventure together, 

4) Berlin, Not Long Ago in which Emma Peel meets Max Prendergast and Steed learns more of her abilities, and finally 

5) The Transformed Man, After. In which John Steed and Emma Peel become The Avengers.

****

I. 

Emma Peel sat in her office at Knight Industries, a stack of papers before her, but her mind was not on work. 

''I'm bored,'' she thought to herself. ''This work is too easy. All routine. The cut-throat world of industrial competition...''

She sighed, rose from her desk and took a trip or two around the room. Knight Industries had been her father's business, and he had always intended her to take over. 

Well, she had taken over, five years ago, and she didn't like it. 

Emma paused in front of the plate glass window and gazed out art the citiscape below. Just two months since her husband Peter had died. They'd had such good times together - Peter had been a bit of a daredevil and complimented her perfectly. Their five years together had been bliss. After a weekend going hang-gliding or scuba diving or even mountain-climbing with him she'd been able to face the rest of the work week with a passion. And then coming home to him at night - when he'd been at home on rare occasions - more often he'd be off somewhere flying planes. And now he was gone forever, and nothing but dull days stretched before her.

But somehow...they were even more boring now.

That's because she'd had a taste of a different life. A knife-edged life. A life in which the throats that got cut...really bled. A life in which one could feel really alive not by cheating death, but actually by defeating the death dealers.

Saving the world? Emma thought with a smile. Is that what she'd been doing? 

That man...with the microfilm. That man John Steed had never really told her what that had been all about...but presumably it had been something important.

Then, on her pilgrimage to Berlin, she had helped to catch Max Prendergast, a ruthless individual who had betrayed hundreds of men, women and their children to their deaths. That had felt like a _real _accomplishment.

She'd like to do more of it. But how? that man Steed was the key.

Emma returned to her desk, opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle, a glass, and a newspaper.

He'd given her his card, a few weeks ago, when she'd driven into the back of his car - but she'd thrown it away after it had turned out he'd merely been investigating her. So, how to find him, short of going down to MI5...or was it 6?, and asking for a man in a bowler hat and an umbrella?

As she sipped her wine, Emma found the page she was looking for - a half-column advertisement for a Bentley car rally taking place on the grounds of Longleath House, over the week end.

That would be the place.

****

II. 

John Steed's sartorial elegance, if any upon this occasion, was concealed beneath a pair of greasy coveralls, and instead of a brolly he wielded a wrench. It was shockingly early in the morning - but while Steed hated to rise before eight o'clock for anything else, when it came to ensuring that his Bentley was in tip top condition prior to the annual Longleath Run For the Roses he was Johnny-on-the-spot.

He rolled underneath the Bentley to double check various seals and things. As his eagle-eyed gazed searched diligently for anything amiss, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a pair of shapely ankles, and feet encased in a pair of black pumps.

Steed rolled himself from beneath the Bentley with alacrity, and then stopped short with a small frisson of surprise. The woman was tall, with auburn hair that fell in a wave to her shoulders, broad forehead, smiling brown eyes, straight nose...impish grin...still dressed in widow's black...it was Mrs. Emma Peel.

''Mrs. Peel,'' he scrambled to his feet. ''What a pleasure it is to see you again.''

She smiled at him. ''Mr. Steed. I was hoping to find you here.''

''You were?'' Steed smiled his most charming smile. ''I'm delighted to hear it. There's a little canteen set up over there,'' he indicated a direction, ''Let's go get a coffee.''

They settled down at a picnic table and each busied themselves preparing their coffee to their satisfaction.

''It's a glorious sight, isn't it,'' Steed said, indicating the two dozen Bentleys parked on the vast grounds of Longleath House. ''One of the best automobiles ever made.''

''Oh, I don't know,'' Emma said thoughtfully. ''I've rather liked the Rolls Royce Silver Ghost.''

Steed beamed delightedly. ''Are you interested in antique cars, Mrs. Peel?''

''Oh, I'm interested in practically everything, Mr. Steed.''

Steed raised an eyebrow archly. ''In that case, you mustn't call me _Mister_.''

Mrs. Peel raised an eyebrow at him in return. ''Alright...Steed.''

Steed sat back and sipped his coffee. ''Well...yes...''

It was Emma's turn to lean forward. ''Steed...do you remember Berlin?''

''Vividly.''

''I helped you capture Max Prendergast. And you mentioned the future. You wanted there to _be _a future.''

Steed leaned forward again, his eyes alight. ''Indeed I did.''

''Well, so do I. Just exactly what organization do you belong to? MI5? MI6?''

Steed's chin slipped off his hand. ''I beg your pardon?''

''Catching crooks. Dealing with diabolical masterminds. That sort of thing. You aren't Special Branch?''

Steed's mouth opened and closed. Several times. 

''Are you practicing your fish imitations?'' Mrs. Peel asked somewhat acerbically.

''No, not at all. It's just...''

Steed ran his fingers through his hair. He had received a bit of a shock. At first sight of Mrs. Peel he had assumed that she'd come to visit him for himself alone. And instead she was volunteering...actually _volunteering_...to engage in that business which his previous partner Cathy Gale had had to be so cajolingly urged. 

''Frankly I'm delighted, Mrs. Peel.'' he said with a smile. ''When I first met you I thought you'd be an excellent associate. I do not belong to MI5 or MI6, however, but rather an offshoot. Let's call it... Department S.''

''S for secret?''

''Exactly.''

Emma Peel nodded. ''Good. Well, Steed, thank you. When does my training start?''

''Training?''

''Of course. I may be an expert martial artist - even if I do say so myself, and I'm pretty good at quite a lot of things, but certainly I'd have to have some training. Learn codes and things?''

Steed felt like giving an imitation of a fish again, but controlled his jaw muscles. What a professionally-minded woman. He had certainly made a good choice.

''I shall give you all your training, Mrs. Peel. An amateur such as yourself brings a certain ... je ne c'est quoi ...to the job that I don't want drilled out of you by ham-handed trainers.''

''I see.''

Steed checked his watch. ''One thing that is important in a partnership is that the partners get to know each other very well. The tendencies, the habits, the way you react to certain stimuli. The rally is about to start...will you act as my navigator?''

''I'll be delighted,'' said Emma sincerely.

Steed stood up, unzipped his coveralls and stepped out of them to reveal slacks and a black turtleneck, and he and Emma Peel walked to his Bentley. Steed started the car with a flourish and drove towards the starting line.

****

III. 

Catherine Gale finished writing in her notebook, closed it, closed the book she had been referencing, took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She glanced at the clock. Five o'clock. How nice. She'd finished right on the stroke of quitting time.

Cathy walked out of her office at the British Museum, nodding at the guards cheerfully, and walked down a couple of blocks to her favorite pub, The Three Vikings, where she'd treat herself to a beer and a shepherd's pie. She was going to see a play later that evening in the West End, with a couple of friends visiting from America who wanted to see that quaint period piece of Agatha Christie's called _The Mousetrap_, which had made its debut in 1958 and was now in its eighth year - the longest running play in the world.

Cathy walked into the Three Vikings and waved at the publican. She was well-known there - the man gave an answering nod. Cathy found a corner booth, deep in the rear of the pub. She pulled a paperback novel from her purse and began to read. Within minutes a mug of beer and a shepherd's pie were placed in front of her. Then another mug was placed across from her. Her server sat down opposite her and Cathy looked up into the eyes of John Steed.

Very slowly, she closed her book.

''Hello, Steed.''

''Mrs. Gale.''

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Steed watched Cathy take a couple of bites of shepherd's pie, while he himself savored a bit of beer. 

''Been enjoyin' yourself?'' Steed asked.

''Very much. I've been able to get quite a bit of work done lately.''

''Jolly good.''

''So whatever you have to say, the answer's no.''

''Don't say that before you hear what it is. I just want to ask a favor.''

''A favor?'' Cathy looked at Steed, a bit puzzled and a bit wary. ''What do you mean?'' He seemed very odd. A bit embarrassed, a bit unsure of how to proceed.

''I'd like you to meet someone. Give me an evaluation of her.''

Cathy arced an eyebrow. ''Her?''

''Yes...my new partner, you see.''

Cathy stared at John Steed for several long seconds, and then she started to laugh.

''What's so funny?'' he demanded.

''I'm sorry, Steed. I...'' she looked down at her beer. ''I need something stronger than this. Get me a scotch, would you?''

''Certainly.'' Steed returned within seconds with a couple of drinks. 

''Well?'' he said.

Cathy had fitted a cigarette into her cigarette holder and puffed meditatively. ''Human beings are wonderful, Steed. I fully expected you to look me up, try to talk me back into the fold. I was going to take great pleasure in squelching you as you deserve. And instead I find that not only am I not wanted, but I've already been replaced! It was a bit of a blow to my ego and I don't mind admitting it.''

''No one could ever replace you, Mrs. Gale.'' Steed said seriously. ''But I needed a new partner and fate, or kismet, led me to her. How else could you explain the fact that a girl with her qualities - strength, martial arts skills, was in exactly the right place at the right time.''

''What's her name?''

''Peel. Mrs. Emma Peel.''

''That name sounds familiar...Steed! The woman whose husband, the test pilot, was killed a couple of months ago?''

''Yes.''

''And you've recruited her to play your deadly games?'' There was an edge in Cathy's voice.

''Not at all,'' Steed snapped. Then he relaxed. ''That's the thing of it. She volunteered.''

Cathy puffed at her cigarette. 

''It was a couple of months ago, while you were off in Bermuda. One of One-Ten's schemes went wrong and one of Theirs made off with some microfilm. Ran with it down the streets of London. He made the mistake of running right past Mrs. Peel with a knife in his hand. She swung him into the side of the building and then kicked him where it hurt.''

''Oh, good for her.''

''Yes. Then a few weeks later she was in Berlin. She happened to attract the interest of Max Prendergast - a rather nasty bit of goods, and helped Us get him. I thought at the time she would be ideal for the work, but I didn't want to press her. I held off for a month.''

Cathy's eyes narrowed. ''Alright. Who are you and what have you done with the real John Steed?''

Steed gave Cathy one of his patented looks. ''That's not funny. The point is, she came to _me_. Said she wanted to play the game.''

''She sounds like your kind of woman, Steed.''

''Yes...yes, she is.'' There was a far away look in Steed's eyes, unlike the lascivious ones she usually saw at times like this, that made Cathy stare at the man whom she had known and worked closely beside for two years. 

''It seems you already know her qualities. Why do you want _me _to evaluate her for you?''

''Well...not evaluate, really. I just said that because I didn't know quite how to broach the subject. She said she wanted a bit of training. Codes and things. I don't want her going through normal channels. I can teach her a great deal...but so can you.''

''How you like your tea stirred, that sort of thing?''

''Well, that, certainly.'' Steed gave her one of his lascivious looks. ''But, I was thinking more along the lines of... I don't know...fashion for the female secret agent. Where you keep your guns and picklocks. How to knock out a gang of men without getting your hair mussed, and still get home in time for dinner. How to stare death in the face and not panic.''

Cathy finished her scotch. 

''Have you considered that that's why she may be doing this?''

''Do I think she wants to stare death in the face? And meet it?'' Steed nodded slowly, his face grim. ''I...I'm not sure. I don't _think _so. But I want to be sure.''

Cathy returned his nod. So _that _was the reason he'd come to her. ''Survivor guilt. Or a death wish. Two reasons why she shouldn't be your partner. You don't think you can judge that?''

''No. I know you can.''

Cathy nodded. Steed was well aware of her interest and expertise in psychology and psychoanalysis. 

''All right, Steed. I'll meet her....does she know how to fence?''

''I think she knows how to do everything.''

''There's no better way to evaluate someone than over a nice bout of fencing. One's whole personality comes to the fore. You have her phone number?''

''Yes.''

''Well, ask her to meet me....tomorrow's not good....see if she can't meet me this Wednesday, at Tonetti's Fencing Salon. Noon.''

''Noon.'' Steed nodded. ''Thank you, Mrs. Gale.''

''Don't tell her who I am, Steed. Or who I _was_,'' she amended with a grin. ''Inform her that I'm merely a physical fitness instructor.''

''Well, that might be difficult, Mrs. Gale. You have a reputation in academic circles and Mrs. Peel is quite at home there. She might not know what you did in your spare time, but unless I'm very much mistaken she'll certainly recognize your name.''

''A good point. Alright, I'm not Mrs. Gale, then. Tell her I'm Mrs.....Austin.''

''Austin. Right.''

Steed finished his own drink. ''I'll telephone you. Confirm she's coming.''

''Right, Steed.''

Steed rose to his feet. ''Can I escort you anywhere?''

''No, thanks. I'm going to the theatre with friends. I thought I'd spend a bit of time shopping beforehand.''

''If you're hunting for clothes I'd be quite happy to come along, give you my opinion on any outfits you'd like to try on.''

Cathy laughed. ''I was thinking more along the lines of Portobello Road. I should make you come along and carry my parcels, but I won't. It's all right, Steed, I'll let you know about things on Thursday.''

Steed was strangely reluctant to go. He liked Cathy Gale...liked her very much in fact...in fact he quite fancied her. Despite the unaccustomed emotions he was feeling over Emma Peel...she was a newly made widow, and out of bounds...for a while at any rate. But he knew Cathy - she'd put him out of her life already, he had no doubt. Moved onward and upward. She was doing him this one favor..or perhaps she was doing the favor for Mrs. Peel.

Steed sighed, tipped his bowler to Mrs. Gale and left the pub. Cathy looked after him for a few seconds, then returned her attention to her shepherd's pie.

****

IV.

''Mrs. Austin?''

''Mrs.Peel. Nice to meet you. Please, call me Emma.''

''Certainly. And I'm Cathy.''

Catherine Gale and Emma Peel stood just within the doors of Tonetti's Fencing Salon. Mrs. Gale was already in her sparkling, crisp white outfit. She had recognized Emma Peel immediately - she had done some quick background research on her. Emma Peel carried a fencing bag. ''Ladies changing room over there, Emma,'' Cathy told her. Emma nodded, smiled, and disappeared, to return only a few minutes later. She too wore white, but with a red heart embroidered over her left breast. She carried a foil, and Cathy noted that the bell-guard was scarred from much use.

''Shall we warm up, first,'' Cathy suggested. ''There are some mats over here.'' The two women were soon on the mats, performing various stretching and limbering up exercises.

''How long have you been fencing?'' Cathy asked, reaching out to touch her toes and place her forehead on her knee.

''Began taking lessons when I was fifteen. For a time I considered entering competition, but then other things intervened. I just do it recreationally, now.''

''As they have a habit of doing,'' Cathy agreed.

''My club is Corday's.''

''Ah, yes. Corday has turned out quite a few good fencers.''

Their warm ups finished, the two women proceeded onto the floor. It was a vast, polished hardwood floor, surrounded by mirrored walls so that the fencers could check their form at any moment. Red lines set into the floor at intervals designated each 'piste,' or fencing area. There were only a couple of other fencers in the salon, off in one corner practicing lunging through rings suspended from the ceiling.

The two women saluted with their foils, donned their masks, and crouched into en garde position, the tips of their foils six feet away from each other. 

''A la,'' murmured Cathy, and advanced cautiously. Emma retreated the same number of steps, keeping the distance the same between them. Cathy noted that her form was very classic; while she herself let her left arm dangle behind her casually, Emma kept hers high in the air, hand curved. 

Cathy beat her foil against Emma's, bouncing it out of line, and lunged. Emma brought her own foil back and parried with ease. 

And so it went on, the two women advancing and retreating down the piste. Cathy was always on the offensive, probing her opponent's every guard...forcing her to do every riposte and parry in the book, and always Emma showed an excellent grasp of technique. And her speed was tremendous. But she seemed to be content to be on the defensive...or perhaps she too is just feeling _me _out, Cathy mused. And indeed all of a sudden Emma Peel performed a ballestra - a sudden stamp of her foot and a jump forward, and all of a sudden she was attacking furiously and Cathy was back-peddling furiously as she defended herself, then suddenly caught Emma's blade in prise, bounced off it and hit Emma's red heart.

Emma lowered her blade immediately. ''Hit,'' she called out cheerfully.

They resumed their fencing distance and began again.

Two hours later they were showered, changed, and in the Charing Cross Tea Room sipping tea and eating cucumber sandwiches. Emma had 'won' the match, by a couple of hits. ''I'm quite impressed,'' Cathy told her. ''If you'd kept up with your fencing you could have done great things on the competitive stage.''

''Thank you. You're not so bad yourself.''

Cathy smiled. She glanced around. They were in a corner booth, no one within earshot. She spoke in a low voice.

''So,'' she said, ''the thought of pitting your wits against diabolical masterminds intrigues you?''

Emma nodded. ''Yes. I think I'd be rather good at it.''

Cathy debated all the things she could say. It was dangerous work. Well, of course it was. Emma would know that. Steed would put her life at hazard again and again. But he'd always be there to pull the chestnuts out of the fire as well. And this girl definitely would be able to pull her own chestnuts out of the fire. Steed had certainly chosen a winner.

''Tell me about your background,'' Cathy invited. ''You run Knight Industries, don't you?''

''That's right.'' Emma went on to explain how her father had groomed her for the role of his successor. Her achievements at school. The death of her mother and her father's subsequent remarriage to a Japanese woman whom he'd met on a business trip to Japan. A woman who might have been the spiritual descendant of Tomoe Gozen, one of the great Samurai women of Japan. Her marriage to Peter Peel. Their five years of marriage. His death.

''Only two months ago,'' Cathy murmured. 

Emma nodded, sipping her tea. ''When one is married to a test pilot, one gets used to the idea of death,'' she said. ''It was an utter shock when I heard it, don't mistake me, and I mourned him and am still in mourning. Not a day goes by when I don't see something he bought me, or remember something he said...and feel a flash of sadness that he's no longer here to share my life.''

Cathy nodded. Emma Peel had had an easier time of it - if one could put it like that - then _she'd _had, with her husband killed right beside her by Mau Mau terrorists. Well, she'd had the satisfaction of killing some of them in return.

''Can you kill?'' she asked abruptly.

''I beg your pardon?''

''You are up against a couple of villains - who will have no scruple in killing you. You've got a gun in your hand. Would you shoot them?''

''I don't know if I'd shoot to kill,'' Emma said thoughtfully. ''I'd certainly incapacitate them.''

Cathy nodded. She believed Emma.

''Alright, Emma,'' she said. ''As I believe Steed told you, he's going to be doing any training you might require, in this business, this Circus, as some call it. But I think you've got the right stuff.''

''Thank you, Cathy. Tell me about Steed.''

Cathy arced an eyebrow. ''John Steed? He's quite a man. Dedicated to his country. He's educated, charming, intelligent. A real ladies' man.'' 

Emma raised her own eyebrow. ''Somehow I gathered that,'' she commented with an impish smile.

Cathy leaned forward. ''He also has all the qualities needed of an expert secret agent. Ruthlessness. Nerves of steel. An inventive mind. You could have no better tutor.''

Emma nodded.

''And if you're going to work with Steed, you're going to need some additions to your wardrobe. Let's go shopping.''

****

V.

''You've got an eye for quality, Steed. I'll give you that.''

Cathy Gale and John Steed stood in the Dinosaur room of the British Museum Department of Natural History. It was where they had first met, when Steed had come to ask an expert's opinion on the uses of black magic.

''She'll do, then?''

Cathy nodded. ''She'll do.''

Steed sighed. ''Good.''

They walked about in silence, looking at the exhibits. ''It was a good run, wasn't it, Mrs. Gale?'' Steed said at last.

''Yes. A good run. But the curtain comes down on every run, sooner or later. The actors switch over, and a new play starts.''

They stopped near the entrance. It was John Steed's exit cue. He looked at Cathy Gale, his face serious. ''I always did fancy you, you know,'' he told her.

Cathy nodded, but forbore to smile. ''I know. And if you hadn't been such a cad I might have allowed myself to fancy you, as well. Remember that, Steed, in your dealings with Emma Peel.''

She offered her hand to Steed. He took it in the tips of his fingers and raised his hand to her lips. ''I'll remember, Mrs. Gale. Always.''

****

VI.

The telephone rang. John Steed reached out a hand and grabbed the receiver in a strangulation grip. ''Yes?''

''We've got trouble. Sir Clive Todd has just been found...stealing top secret documents.''

Steed sat up, wide awake.

''Sir Clive _Todd_?''

''That's right. He was shot - by one of his own men, apparently. He's been taken to his own house to convalesce. Get down there, Steed. Now.''

''I'm on my way.''

Steed hung up the phone, then picked it up again and immediately redialed.

A sleepy voice answered him.

''Mrs. Peel. Steed here. You said you wanted in on the game. Well, get dressed. Something's afoot. I'll be over to pick you up in half an hour.''

Steed slid out of bed, showered, dressed, ran down to his Bentley and drove towards Mrs. Peel's flat. She was waiting outside the door of the building, dressed in a toasty fur coat and muff and looking like she was asleep standing up.

''The middle of the night,'' she mumbled at Steed.

''In you get, Mrs. Peel, you can sleep on the way.''

He helped Mrs. Peel into the passenger seat, where she immediately fell asleep. Steed pointed his Bentley toward Sir Clive Todd's house...and drove into history.

THE REST OF THIS STORY MAY BE VIEWED IN _The Masterminds._


End file.
